The Masque of a Young Death
by xxmisfit121
Summary: Just keep calm, don't try to fix the ballroom, and don't talk about butterflies. KidLiz


_A/N: Attempting romance... lets see if I can make it work again... _

_I don't own SoulEater _

* * *

The Gallows Mansion's ballroom was filled with a near impenetrable sea of people, most of whom the owner of the house did not know, all adorned with their finest clothing with their faces hidden away by elaborate masks. The fabric of the girls' dresses flowed in circles as they danced with their partners to the loud music that was so unfitting to the room's atmosphere. There was loud bass and a kick drum swirling together with an attention stealing guitar and indecipherable lyrics, mumbled by a rather ambiguous vocalist. The sound crashed through the air, beating each individual in the chest and stirring their energy. It was a warm sound though, punk rock played from a record, though there was something about it that was distinctly 80's. Perhaps it was the odd echo in the vocals.

The walls were covered with long, black, velvet drapes that all stemmed from the golden light fixture on the ceiling, wrapping down the walls and pooling on the floor in elegant piles. They covered the white walls completely, hiding their true appearance perfectly. They covered the windows as well, blocking any natural light that the moon may have leant them. The only light came from the ones lining the walls, which had been fitted with special covers to dye their luminescence crimson. The whole room was bathed in bloody light, shimmering under the glow of rubies.

Kid had long since left this behind, however. The music beat against the floor beneath him, stifled and barely recognizable underneath the burgundy rug. He'd taken his mask off as well, a reaper's mask decorated as a Dia de Muertos skull, and tossed it on the cherrywood table beside the matching couch. The light here was harshly bright, pouring from the large, rounded, marble fixture on the ceiling.

He leaned back into the cushions of the couch and momentarily let his neck drape over the curved wooden back. He adjusted himself quickly, though, and rested his chin on his chest as he stared down at the floor. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailcoat and pulled out his pocket watch. He flicked it open to find that it had been not so much as five minutes since the last time he'd checked.

He drooped further into the couch, a small groan rippling through his vocal cords, and replaced the watch back inside his coat. It was only 10:30. The party had only been going on for a half an hour. It wouldn't be over for at least three more hours, not until at least after midnight.

They were going to make such a mess. There was going to be so much garbage, so much debris, left in the wake of all of the guests, most of whom he did not know and had not invited. Forgotten and lost soda cans, little bits of paper, someone's jacket they'd forgotten, all would be left for him to clean.

Why had he let Liz and Patty throw this party? Why did they _need _to have a new years party? And why did his birthday _have _to be on New Year's Eve?

He could enjoy parties, he knew. He enjoyed them quite a lot sometimes. However, when there were just _so many people, _he could not allow himself to enjoy any of it. All he could do was think about the mess they were making and all the things they were doing in his house. He'd made sure to lock his bedroom door this time, though, after what had happened last time...

He had come up here, to this small room with it's walls lined with shelves filled with all sorts of books, to perhaps attempt to read. He'd wanted to try, at the very least, to relax. He'd wanted to try to get his mind off of the mess. He found himself incapable, though, and could only sit on the couch and force himself to breathe.

He'd spent several minutes plucking books from the shelves, examining them, and then putting them back. He couldn't find anything he truly felt like reading. Or rather, he couldn't find anything that he was so absolutely fascinated by that he'd be able to engross himself in it enough to keep his mind out of the puddle of anxiety dripping into existence inside his skull.

So he'd eventually decided to just sit here and force himself to think about anything and everything else. He thought about Eibon. He thought about Rorschach tests. He thought about the Kishin. He thought about a previous mission or two. He thought about whether or not he should replace one of his jackets. He thought about symmetry. He thought about asymmetry. He thought about Patty. He thought about tomorrow's breakfast. He thought about the books he wished he could focus on reading. He thought about symmetry again. He thought about Liz.

He shifted himself when his neck was beginning to feel strained.

Maybe he could go back downstairs, just ever so briefly, and get something to eat. He'd have to be careful that no one saw him, though. He'd have to be quiet and quick. He could picture himself doing it; standing up, walking out the door and into the hall, his feet flying down the stairs with almost no noise at all until he reached the black and white tiled floor of the entryway.

He could see the light of the moon spilling onto the floor through the windows and dying the whole place in pearlescent blue. He'd then slip down the corridor with soft, soft, steps and open the big black doors without so much as a creaking hinge. He'd weave his way through the party, his white mask like a Día de Muertos skull, and no one would see him. No one would recognize him. No one would stop him to talk.

He'd just grab a plate quickly and fill it with pastries and cubes of cheese and prawns, being there was no genuine food down there other than h'orderves. Then he'd sneak back upstairs without a sound, much faster than he'd gone on the way down, and back into this room and no one would ever see him.

This, of course, was utter lunacy. He knew how it would truly happen. He knew very well. He might make it out the door, though it would creak and squeal in protest every step of the way.

If no one heard him, he might make it down the stairs, even though he was wearing unconventional and unsubtle shoes that would make for echoing and obnoxious footsteps. Perhaps he'd make it down the hall if no one had decided to leave the ballroom to make out in 'private' or make a mess of even more of his house.

Maybe after that he might even last a few seconds as he opened the ballroom door. However, he would not at all survive much longer. _Someone_ would see him. _Someone _would grab him and talk to him and hold him there as his beautiful ballroom was ruined.

Even if no one ever caught him, though, and no one attempted to speak to him, he absolutely would not be able to watch the party as it unfolded before him. He wouldn't be able to stand it. He wouldn't be able to be in there without fixing, cleaning, picking, adjusting, straightening, or otherwise alleviating the horrendous state of the place.

He'd been banned from cleaning today.

No, it would not be a good idea to try in go down there. It would be a horrible idea, in fact. He shouldn't even attempt it.

Though, he hadn't had dinner thinking he'd just be eating all night anyway.

He was really rather hungry.

Really.

But he shouldn't go down there. He shouldn't risk it. The scene kept playing over and over again in his mind, though, of him so swiftly snatching up something to eat so quickly and easily. Maybe he could... Maybe, maybe, maybe...

But he probably shouldn't.

He should just think about something else. He should just think about something nice, something he liked. He'd found a lovely mounted butterfly a few days ago. Butterflies were always perfectly symmetrical. It had been a buckeye. Buckeyes were interesting. They really did look like they had eyes on their wings. He'd read somewhere that a caterpillar's legs' placement determined where the spots on it's wings would be.

He'd tried talking to Liz about these types of things before. She'd been uninterested. Maybe he could try again some time. Maybe he could tell her about how a caterpillar's legs determined how it's wings looked. It had to do with genetics, he'd tell her. It had to do with the chromosomes and how the same one controlled the placement of the spots that controlled the placement of the legs. He'd tell her everything he knew about butterflies and she'd be so interested.

Except that she probably wouldn't care, because Liz was not one for science.

But never the less, Kid continued to list each and every fact he knew about butterflies in his head in the form of a scene where he was talking to her. He was telling her everything he knew, rambling really. He just continued in his head for he didn't know how long. His thoughts went in circles, most of the facts repeated a dozen times.

Maybe he could really tell her. Maybe he could really have this conversation.

Except that Liz wouldn't care.

Maybe a good amount of time had passed by now. Maybe the party was getting closer to being over.

He slipped his hand into his coat pocket again and pulled out his pocket watch. He flicked it open and watched the second hand tick by. It had only been ten minutes.

He sighed and put it back in his pocket again.

Maybe he could go get food. Maybe he could tell Liz about butterflies. Maybe she'd be interested. Girls liked butterflies, didn't they? He couldn't believe he didn't really know things like that, despite the fact that he lived with two women. Why was he thinking about this?

He should go get food. He should try to just go downstairs and get something to eat. He'd just have to slip out the door and go down the stairs oh so quietly. It'd be easy easy easy. But it wouldn't be. He shouldn't try.

A butterfly's spots were determined by the placement of it's legs when it was a caterpillar. Butterflies were perfectly symmetrical. Butterflies were awesome.

Monarch butterflies migrate. Liz liked monarchs. She said they were beautiful. She said she'd always wanted to see them, though there weren't any in the Nevada dessert, unless one strayed from it's migration pattern. It wasn't common though. Maybe if he told her about monarchs she'd care.

He really didn't understand why he felt the need to have imaginary conversations with his partner, though. He could talk to her any time he wanted. He wondered if he could actually talk to her about things like this, though. She probably wouldn't care.

Maybe he should try reading a book again. Maybe he should go look. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

This was hopeless. They were making a mess downstairs no matter what else he tried to think about. It didn't matter what he did. The mess was still going to happen and he was still going to have to clean it up.

His head perked up at the sudden clicking of the door. The hinges squeaked as the door swung open and his stomach fell.

"Thought I might find you here."

Liz stood in the doorway in a bright red knee length dress that puffed out ridiculously at the waste in pillows of billowing of tool. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun on top of her head and her eyes were hidden behind a white mask with swirling black details.

_Don't say anything about butterflies. _

Kid straightened himself on the couch as she sat down next to him. She had a plate of food with her from which she promptly plucked some sort of a small cake that she stuck into her mouth.

"You want any?" she offered him while her mouth was still full.

"Sure." He took some from the plate, making sure to take something she had multiples of so that she wouldn't be upset with him for taking something she wanted for herself.

It was some sort of tart filled with red jelly.

"How come you're up here all by yourself? I mean, it's your _birthday,_" she asked.

Kid shrugged. _Don't say anything about butterflies. _"I dunno. The mess and everything."

"Figures," she said. "It's really not that bad, though. Least not that I can see."

"It's going to be, though," he groaned. "You just won't see it until everyone leaves."

"Then you should try to enjoy yourself until then," she said. "And I don't mean sitting up here by yourself, reading."

Liz slumped into the couch further until she was leaning on her arm.

"So what've _you_ been doing all night?" he asked rather apathetically.

"Me? Eh, not really anything. Met a couple nice guys, though," she answered. "Don't know if I'm ever gonna go back and talk to them, though. One of them is kinda weirding me out a bit, which is why I came up here."

"What's he doing?"

"Ah, nothing too bad. But he wont leave me alone and he's kind of annoying, so I'm going to just wait a little bit until he finds something else to do with his life," she said, sticking another cake into her mouth.

Kid nodded, not knowing what else to say.

"Y'know," she said. "You could try meeting a girl or something."

"Ah, I dunno," he said hesitantly. "I don't really need to."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she said. "All I'm saying is that you're Lord Death's son and it's your birthday, so you could probably get anyone you wanted."

"I don't want to, Liz," he said.

"Okay, okay. It was just a suggestion. You don't have to," she said. "I just feel like you shouldn't be sitting up here alone."

He sighed and balanced his head against his hand, his porcelain fingers curling into his cheek.

"Sorry. I didn't think so many people would come, y'know?" she said.

"S'not your fault," he shrugged, not looking at her and clearly not meaning his words. Liz caught on quickly and shoved him.

"Quit angsting," she said sternly.

"That's not a word," he replied.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You just insist on being miserable..." she smirked, picking through the food on her plate. She stuck something in her mouth, though he didn't see what it was, most likely a pastry, and said with her mouth still full, "C'mon."

She then clutched his knee tightly, or perhaps smacked it, and stood up. She faced him, looking down at him casually. She was even taller than she usually was in those heals. He glanced at them only momentarily before his amber eyes fled toward her deep blue ones, only getting stuck briefly on her chest.

He stared at her confusedly, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Come on," she said again, a bit more forcefully.

"Where?" he asked.

"Don't worry," she sighed. "I'm not going to make you go downstairs yet."

_Yet_.

He hesitated a moment before agreeing. "Okay," he said as he stood up and grabbed his mask off the table.

She was already headed toward the door, the tool in her dress rustling with each step she took, the plate of food still in her hand. He walked up next to her, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

The hinges squeaked and creaked as he knew they would when she opened the door and slipped into the hall so swiftly. Her heels clicked against the black and white tiled floor of the dimly lit hallway. The music from the ballroom grew louder as though a layer of insulation keeping it silent was just peeled away, leaving the sound free to echo down the hall as a garbled rhythm.

"I wasn't going to give it to you until tomorrow, but..." she started as his steps fell into sync with hers. "Well, I guess since you don't want to do anything else..."

He nodded. "Alright." He stared down at the floor and watched as his italian leather dress boots stepped over the tiles which flew underneath the two of them, and perfectly mimicked Liz's shiny black heels. They made a lovely pattern together.

His feet were much bigger than hers now, he thought only briefly. It was something he was well aware of, but it was still a bit odd. It was simply that he'd gotten so much taller in the past year and his feet had gotten quite a bit bigger. He'd grown almost obscenely tall and had become, to his dismay, quite lanky.

He wondered, fearfully, briefly, if he would actually become as tall as his father, or if his father simply chose to be that height. The elder reaper was almost eight feet tall, though, and he couldn't help but worry. Of course, he was still an acceptable height for a human, so for now he didn't really have any reason to be contemplating such things. It was just something that would occasionally cross his mind.

His feet dwarfed hers now. It was funny.

"You have such tiny feet," he said.

There was a pause and he held his breath, wishing he could inhale the words back into his lungs.

"I guess," she said unsurely.

He didn't further the comment as they turned a corner. The first door on the left side of the hall was Liz's, which was where they stopped.

She placed a key in the lock, presumably having the same minute paranoia he'd had about guests getting into their rooms, and turned it until it clicked. She shoved open the door and flicked the switch on the wall, causing the ceiling lamp to pour light into the room that spilled into the hall.

"It's not a whole lot or anything," she said, placing the plate on her bedside table. "I saw you looking at it the other day is all."

He stood in the doorway with his hands still clasped behind his back patiently as she dug through one of the drawers of her dresser.

"And since you collect these things and everything," she continued. "And you didn't buy it that day..."

She pulled a small rectangular box wrapped in shiny red paper out of the drawer. It fit neatly in one hand, only a bit bigger than her palm.

He took a half step into her room, not sure if she wanted him to come in. It wasn't something that normally mattered, but for the moment he felt the need to be cautious.

When she sat down on her bed instead of coming back over to him, though, he strode further into her room, the tails of his coat flowing gracefully out behind him. He sat down next to her, carefully and hesitantly, on the soft, white comforter.

She handed him the box, which was light-weight and hollow-feeling. It was also perfectly square. He didn't open it yet, though.

He turned his head to look at her, at her deep blue eyes like that of the depths of the ocean clearly visible through the holes in her mask. She tucked her yellow hair behind her ear and said oddly, "So um, happy birthday and all that stuff."

"Thanks," he said sincerely, not looking away from her eyes.

"Well, go ahead and open it," she told him.

"Right," he said, turning his attention back to the tiny box.

He turned it over to find the edge where she'd taped the paper closed. He carefully slipped his finger underneath the paper and slowly unstuck the tape. He made very sure not to rip the paper in any way and eventually slipped it off the tiny box in one neat piece. He then placed the shiny red paper on the bed next to him, all full of creases he'd smooth out later.

"Thank you," he said honestly, though his voice shook as his stomach fell. "Really."

She shrugged. "I know it's not that fancy but..." she said.

"No, no," he said. "It's lovely."

He looked back at her, and she was smiling so sweetly and her eyes were filled with, to his surprise, relief. He couldn't take his sights off her smile, though, as it was perfectly natural and so sincere and so relaxed. He stared at her lips which he knew must be soft as pale-pink rose petals.

Then her smile widened and her eyes became deviously all-knowing. Something in her soul struck a string of confliction, though it was muted so quickly that he nearly didn't catch it.

It wasn't as though he had time to think about what her soul was doing, though, as a huge chunk of time cracked and crumbled into something indecipherable, broken apart by her lips as they quite inexplicably crashed into his.

He kissed her back, all of his thoughts drowned out by the deafening beat of his heart. His hands ended up in her hair at some point, and her hands were crawling down his back.

He kissed both sides of her face and jaw, still not thinking, only breathing in anything and everything that was Liz Thompson.

She pulled away, though, as she needed to breathe far more than he did. He leaned into her, the center of his forehead against the center of hers. They just breathed together, with their lips only barely separate.

The little plastic box that had once been rapped in red paper sat forgotten next to them. Behind the clear, protective plastic was set a perfect buck-eye, with big black dot's on the tips of each wing that looked just like the eyes of a staring deer. The specimen had flawless symmetry. It was absolutely perfect.

This moment was perfect in just the same way.

He pressed his face into the side of her neck. "So the pattern on a butterfly's wings is controlled by the same chromosome that controls the placement of its legs..." he mumbled.

"What?" she breathed through an amused laugh, lacing her fingers through his.

"Nothing."

* * *

_A/N: Tried to make Kid act kind of... I don't know, like a dork. Because he kind of is when it comes to this kind of thing. I hope I didn't overdo it, since he's really not an incredibly awkward guy._

_My KidLiz stories are becoming formulaic... This must be fixed... All of them are like: Kid is having an issue, Liz kisses him. _

_And I don't care if the butterfly fact is true or not. This is just a fanfiction._

_Reviews are appreciated as always. _


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